


A Dying Man's Dream

by doubledecks



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Come Shot, Dehumanization, Feral Behavior, M/M, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nonverbal Communication, Scratching, Sheathed Cock, Sirens, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubledecks/pseuds/doubledecks
Summary: "We're far enough out of his territory," says the first mate. "He shows his lewd fucking face again and you put a spear in his gullet.""Aye," I says. "I'm off to bed."What blight befell me then.
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Tintin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just saw The Lighthouse and was inspired to write quick siren-themed Tintin smut as a late Halloween fic. Hopefully this will tide (HA!) folks over until my workload lightens in the next few months.
> 
> I wouldn't say this is as hopelessly disturbing as the movie (nor does it really...have much of anything to do with it) but it does get kind of weird. I don't think sirens can be involved without it getting kind of weird. Enjoy.

When a man see black spots it means his brain's not getting oxygen. That his belly ain't getting fed.  
  
They drift past the corners of his eyes like a procession of damnable imps, always showing up where he be looking. Making him blind in the worst doldrums of his wasting. Well, this weren't like that at all.  
  
Two of them over the horizon. Clearer than anything. Like someone had cut holes in the cloth backdrop we'd come to know all our lives as the sea. Empty, like the blackest night.  
  
So far and yet so clear. I could see nothing else.  
  
_This is it__, _I think to meself. _This is me__ sign. The eyes of death what men see before tragedy falls._  
  
Days passed. I succumbed to naught. Soon forgotten.  
  
A boy washed up port.  
  
We'd keeled a crate -- some provisions what went bad -- and there he was clinging to the pallet like a wounded animal. Black eyes doe-like in the throes of a dying man's dream. Clean-cut; hadn't been out to sea for long. Little red gash 'crost his naked head like a kiss.  
  
One of ours? Nae, every man on that ship would have remembered this face.  
  
We beckoned to him; called for him. Right to send someone down when he plunged into the deep with a flash of scale and we all went silent, the wraith of Neptune snapping 'round our necks like a noose.  
  
"They do that," first mate says that night. "Three to a man on deck from here on out; I won't be seeing this voyage to ruin over a juvenile who wants to play games."__  
  
"His thoracic dorsal's grown," says I. "He's mature and he's dangerous."  
__  
"What if he's a scout?" says Tom, shaking in his shoes like the worm he is. "What if there's more?"__  
  
First mate gets up, takes the rest of his scotch. Closes his fist 'round his old rusty harpoon and pries it from the wall.  
  
"Then Haddock will kill him," says he.  
  


* * *

  
He was stalking us.  
  
A day would pass without only for him to be there again, bobbing just beyond me sight a speck in the brine.  
  
I said naught. What was there to say? You talk of the beast and it becomes a fetish, an idol to proselytize to the men. A cult what follows crew ashore and bleeds into the very corners of their last landlubbing days.  
  
Say naught and keep a firm head; but who's to tell what magic it works the men in their desperate, solitary imaginings?  
  
"Males don't sing," Tom say. "I heard that."  
  
"They chatter," says I. "Like your shiftless arse."  
  


* * *

  
He was starting to get bold. Playing chicken with stones and bits of dinnerware thrown at him; down and back up again with those dark comely eyes full of appetite.  
  
He had another cut on his temple. This close we could see; his head were an atlas of scars.  
  
We reasoned that he cut his hair short like the men on ships using a crab claw or other sharp bit of fauna. I could see him doing it in me head, sharpening a shark tooth on a bit of bedrock with that curt bonny face and then casting it smooth o'er his ear with a hand 'crost his brow like the sailors do, a vanity to none. Drop of blood down his pretty neck.  
  
"We ain't got nothing he want," says the first mate to the several gathered starboard. "Stop courting him."  
  
I sure as hell weren't. Slippery thing to look so fine a lad for a ship of lonely boys, but mermen were after lasses. I'd heard the stories. Frankly I wished I hadn't.  
  
We kept our heads down for the next three days. Me neck killed me from not looking up.  
  
Checked and secured the provisions. It weren't a raccoon what tailed us, but what else was there to do? What else could he want?  
  
A week later, the waters were calm.  
  
"We're far enough out of his territory," says the first mate. "He shows his lewd fucking face again and you put a spear in his gullet."  
  
"Aye," I says. "I'm off to bed."  
  
What blight befell me then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably add I have no idea what vernacular Haddock is using. I'm kind of just making shit up. There's no set time period or region.
> 
> Also, I like to think of Haddock's role as "still the Captain but probably weeks out from a mutiny cause he lets his first mate push him around". But I guess when you're about to dick down a gorgeous merman that stops mattering a little.

Sealed to me porthole were the body of Adonis.  
  
The devil had suckered to the ship like a barnacle. Dripping that chest were, with the spray of the wake. Breathing deep and sultry, slippery 'gainst the glass like a spectre from the skin show of hell.  
  
He were well-formed for a pest. Better to look at than rats and insects. A chest like man, teasing its pink nipple at me covetous eye.  
  
So much like a man that it turned me heart over. I came free of sanity in an instant, unbidden and helpless as weeds pulled off by the tide. Nae, was there not a better end on such a cursed voyage. A far better end than I'd planned for meself.  
  
I closed the door, barricaded it with a chair. I put me hands on the glass like a womb; put me ear to it.  
  
Oh, the thrum of his blood as it pushed itself 'round his body. The beating of his infernal organs. Oh, that low chattering from the pit of his chest, the coursing of his flesh as if he were squirming right against me.  
  
Me shaking fingers opened the porthole and I reached for him without thinking. Injury, death be damned.  
  
His skin were like marble, cold as a corpse, but then he moved -- a ripple of sinew, a flash of teeth and his blood run hot, a swipe at me face which left me brow dripping like spilt wine onto me bedclothes.  
  
But he came. Birthed himself through the porthole and into me bed with a lazy swivel of his huge tail, sitting it heavy on me, this broad slimy column of muscle. He flashed his fangs at me again, delighted for such simple sport.  
  
"What is it you're after, eh?" I beckoned, holding him by the meat of his hip as if we'd been wed a hundred years.  
  
His gills flared large about his neck; he bared his teeth again. I opened me nightshirt for him to sink them into me.  
  
"Oh, laddie," says I as he covered me with little bites. "You best drink me up; I'm bound to slaughter yeh."  
  
His small, heavy body trembled with amusement. He squalled high and afar like a dolphin, coaxed me trousers down until me angry member freed, and then he sat himself on it, letting it slip into some secret pocket hereto unseen.

_"Oh!"_ cried I as he rolled upon me like a wave, wet and slippery, and I could feel the swell of his cock against mine within the sweet cavern of his sheath, hot and undulating like a perfect mouth -- something in him had gone and he was taking less care now, his face a picture of wretchedness as he dug his claws into me shoulders, bit at me more. He peppered me face with soft kisses. He cried high enough to shatter me lantern. And then there was a bunching by his nethers, a huge shift of weight that made me stomach flip.  
  
The first real sound that had come from his mouth was like the call of an angel. Wretched he sounded, weeping as he spilled across me. Spilled _something._  
  
There were a crack right as I came after, a bash at the door disturbing me release. The first mate and some of the crew had barreled their way in just in time to see me swiped deep across the face, to hear the thundering bark of a scorned beast, to watch him go as if through the drain of a tub.  
  
Their words were for naught. But so were mine.  
  
He would be back. And I was forever cursed to be the hunted.


End file.
